


Dance For Me

by thelordofstarsanddreams



Series: Through My Eyes [2]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, Feelings, Feyre Still Loves Tamlin the Tool, Rhys needs a hug, True Mates, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 06:30:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7833922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelordofstarsanddreams/pseuds/thelordofstarsanddreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during A Court of Thorns and Roses when Rhysand gives Feyre the wine to get her to dance in the hopes of angering Tamlin. Told from Rhys' point of view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dance For Me

**Author's Note:**

> I have so many feels for this ship. Tones of Feyre/Tamlin due to the timeline. I don't own any of the characters.

The wine was a mercy.

That was the reassurance that I had to constantly repeat to myself, like a silent prayer.

It was all part of a game, an illusion to keep us all alive.  
And if there was anything that I knew how to do it was to keep up a fake appearance to mask truth.

Yet it was not a show that I delighted in.

Feyre had been presented to those creatures in the Mountain Court as a display of power; to make a spectacle of the woman. Or rather, make it seem like a demonstration.

Tamlin needed the provocation. Needed to be angry. Needed something more than this act of obedience and self-pity to a vile mistress.

So my commands had been made known to Nuala and Cerridwen, my two most trusted under that cursed Mountain. In accompanying me that faithful night fifty years ago, they too had been left to rot among Amarantha’s court.

At least they survived the slaughter so many of my people had been taken by.

Though some days I knew they wished they too had been killed.

This Court was no relief from death.

But for the first time we had a chance. A chance to break free from that wretched witch’s vice grip.  
To return home.

_Velaris._

Thoughts of tasting the night sky again, to soar among the stars and feel a night breeze against my wings disappeared the minute I laid eyes on her.

Nuala and Cerridwen had done there job to the highest standard as they always did.

A dull murmur washed over the crowd like a wave reclaiming the shore.

Eyes looked upon the human girl; skin painted in swirling patterns of the darkest night to match the permanent ink on her arm which signified our bargain.  
Feyre’s body was barely covered by the translucent fabric which clung slightly to her breasts and fell only just between her legs to hide her most intimate self. Accented with a heavy gold belt and matching gold diadem, the girl was unaware of how well she played the role I needed her to.

Not one laid a finger on her or dared even so much as graze her marked body as step by step, our bond called her to me.

My heart was in my throat, and I was grateful for the steady drum of the music and noise of the crowd, lest I risk the harlot Queen hear so much as even a change in my breathing.

It pained me. Vicious claws digging into the broken canvas of my soul as I smirked and led her to me like a common whore.

_Whore._

As if I had a right to even think the word.

I could practically hear them seething silently, that Amarantha’s bed warmer had found a new toy.  
Let them think what they wanted.

When it came to the wine, I knew Feyre had come to expect it now, to…anticipate it.

Worrying perhaps, but somehow I took it as a comfort as well, that she did not remember these nights of parading her in front of the beastly High Lord.

So as always, I obliged, feeding her the liquid that she took eagerly, watching as her captivating human eyes widened, listening as her mortal heartbeat sped up, drumming in time with the music.

She looked almost carefree.

Another illusion.

I knew the thoughts which plagued her mind. The nightmares which had come to haunt her. Knew the very taste of the bile in her throat.

Our bond extended beyond the bargain I’d made with her.

Even if she did not know it. Could not recognize it with her mortal being, I had sensed it, dwelling there.

The mortal huntress with the artist’s soul.

The key to our freedom.

Mate.

My mate.

When Feyre began to dance, there was no set elegance to the gestures, there was nothing other than the need to move. Her arms moved in sweeping gestures, her legs had her springing from side to side, hopping, dancing, twirling. The shining strands of her hair caught the light as her chosen outfit barely covered her exposed figure.

She was breathtaking. A piece of art. A glimmer of light in the hellish pits of that mountain.

Yet bile rose in my throat when I saw the eyes which lingered on her. Saw the lustful snarls which filled the faces of too many male and female creatures alike. Too many, much like the picts. Too many who wanted to do her grievous harms.

The music built to a crescendo, and Feyre moved faster, spinning, an absent smile on her painted lips. Wherever her mind was, it wasn’t here.

“Dance, Feyre, dance!”

My voice carried over the crowd, filled with mocking amusement, a pleasant smirk forced to the surface.  
It earned a chuckle from some, an intrigued sort of delight from others.

Too many enjoyed her humiliation.

But Tamlin.

The Spring Court Lord had barely glimpsed at her.  
Whether it was fear instilled by Amarantha or his own need for plain ignorance to the horrors of the situation, I could feel a roar of frustration build within the depths of my chest.

Where was his fight? His anger? How could he sit like a grateful pup while the woman he claimed to loved danced like a common consort?

The snarl had almost rattled into my throat, when my attentions were alerted to the pressure in my lap.  
Feyre.

My entire being wanted to sing from the contact, to bundle her closer as she draped herself across my lap as she had been guided to do so for nights on end now. Apparently it was becoming instinct.

But it was a show. Not real.

It couldn’t be.

Not when her eyes were still blissfully glazed from the wine pumping through her mortal body.

And so I curled an arm around her waist, and let my violet eyes seek Tamlin’s, as I dropped my mouth to her shoulder in a single, lingering kiss, the paint seemingly bending around my lips so when I withdrew, it was not ruined.

Maybe there was something this time in those eyes. Something like anger. Maybe Amarantha and this court would burn after all.

But first, Feyre had to pass her trials.

Had to face whatever fresh hells the Queen would decide upon.

And if at the end of it all, our freedom was gained, I would stand by and watch as she took her High Lord of Spring by the hand and left with him.

_Mate._

For a moment, my grip tightened around her lithe waist.  
Then the music started up again and within a heartbeat, she was gone.


End file.
